Beautiful hour glass figure with modest, firm breasts and ever-pert nipples; as are the women of the Noble and Royal Classes, her body is free of hair below her neck, carefully and frequently shaved from her by a trusted slave girl.
Stunning, green-hazel eyes.
Brunette hair, nearly always worn as in the image (except private and/or intimate moments).
Tattoos:
Face: the pattern designates the Tribe from which she came.
Body: a Snake-Dragon tattoo, the Holy Symbol of the Faithful of Tella-Un; it begins as a thrice-forked tail just above her right ankle, encircled that leg twice as it climbed upwards, then cut across her belly to wrap around her torso and finally cease as a magnificently detailed and somewhat frightening, fang-bearing head just below her sternum.
Various scars (to be described later).
Personality:
Strong, confident, driven.
Intelligent and well educated.
Sexually? Not yet stated.
Compassionate but also willing to kill, punish, enslave, etc., when she finds it necessary.
This is the second of two role plays based upon the same "Universe" that I and my writing partners, Princess Peril and Sir Hugh, are creating.
These two role plays begin with the same introductory post from me, with a bit of editing near the end as appropriate for the differing genders of my writing partners' characters.
The role plays will quickly diverge, however, due first to that gender differences spoken of above and the difference in how my character deals with partners' characters.
Just in case you already read the first post of the other role play, I'll save you some reading in this one: drop down and begin your reading at the Hider, "The Differences begin here"
She'd been called Melody for as long as she could remember, most of her 20 winters of life. It wasn't her true name; she didn't know her true name and those who did had been sworn to keep it from her less they lose their heads.
They wouldn't have been the first to lose their heads in her presence, of course; as she looked down upon the now burning village from where her horse stood still as a statue on a nearby hillock, Melody was sure heads had rolled this very day. She hadn't meant things to go this way, of course. She'd sent an envoy down to the small community shortly after sunrise to peacefully request food and shelter, only to watch as the man and his four escorts were taken down by arrows loosed from multiple directions.
Melody couldn't know what had led to the attack: misunderstanding, language barrier, fear on the villagers' part that their visitors were not as peaceful as they seemed. Whatever the reason, the attack had to be answered. It was, of course, by fire arrows, cavalry, and foot warriors. In the end, as their homes burned behind them, the two dozen survivors of the attack found themselves herded away from the inferno, forced to squat in the mud of a recent rain, and surrounded by their captors.
The ankles of the males were shackled with chains, the women by rope; the children were left unsecured. Once the survivors were trussed up, most of Melody's force set about collecting the stock animals, harvested crops, and other valuable resources.
It wasn't only men serving Melody; her Clan was not simply an invading horde of blood thirty adult male warriors but was in fact an ever-traveling community that included men, women, and children of all ages, much like the village they'd just destroyed.
By now, those on the hillock had descended and dismounted near the collected captives. Melody found there was an almost equal number of men, women, and children. The men were mostly elderly, infirmed, or injured; as expected, the majority of the fighting aged men had engaged with the attackers and been killed.
Many of the women were of childbearing age; many of those had children clinging to them for safety and reassurance; and, Melody was happy to see, many of the rest could easily be considered young and beautiful. These women would fetch a pretty price at the slave market in Yalla.
"Kapiten!"
One of the nearby men who was directing other men's actions heard Melody's call. He sent his subordinates off to continue with their pillaging and hurried to her, pressing his fisted hand to his chest in salute before responding, "Yes, m'lady."
"We will make camp here for the day to give the men rest," she told him. She looked to the hostages, then directed, "Kill a bullock and put two of these men to preparing it for the fire pit. Select six women to slaughter the chickens, ducks, geese."
"All of them, m'lady?" he asked.
"All of them," she instructed. "Easier to transport dead, cooked birds than live ones, wouldn't you agree, Kapiten?"
"Yes, m'lady," he answered, nodding his head respectfully.
"Look for rabbit hutches," she continued, again looking into the crowd of survivors. "If the cages can be transported..."
Her voice trailed off as her gaze fell upon a man who was only just now rousing from unconsciousness and sitting up near the center of the crowd of survivors. He was an incredible looking man: ruggedly handsome, physically fit; he was intriguing in a way Melody couldn't explain, which caused her just enough excitement in a certain part of her physique to lead to her chastising herself over her spontaneous and sometimes uncontrollable urges.
The Captain completed his Lady's unfinished command, "We will load the hutches onto the carts, m'lady. If they can't be transported, well, we'll be eating rabbit tonight as well."
"Tell me about that man," Melody inquired with a soft voice, still looking at the villager.
The Captain followed Melody's gaze, then explained, "I don't know what I can tell you, m'lady, sorry. He was found unconscious and bleeding from the back of his scalp. I presume one of our warriors struck him, knocking him unconscious. The other villagers must have carried him away from the fire ... or perhaps a couple of your warriors."
When Melody only continued to stare at the man in silence, the Captain asked, "Shall I have him executed, m'lady. A man who looks like that ... it is likely that he is a trained warrior and could be a problem--"
"No," Melody cut the man off. Still feeling a bit entranced, she ordered, "Ensure he is shackled properly--"
By properly, she meant with metal chains and shackles, of course. His feet would have enough movement relative to one another to allow him to walk but not run, and his hands would be just far enough apart for him to lift and carry things. A third chain would run between the middles of the other two chains, preventing the man from raising his hands any higher than his belly unless he was crouching down to take a shit or splash water over himself at a creek or lake to cleanse his body for example.
Melody continued her order "--and put him to work emptying my carts. I want my tent erected immediately and my bath filled with steaming water. You can put him to work gathering wood, Kapiten."
"Of course, m'lady," the Captain responded with a nod. He was about to turn but looked at the man once again. Concerned for his petite superior, he asked, "Shall I leave a guard or two to watch over this slave?"
Melody's lips spread in a slight smirk at the use of the word slave. It was so natural to automatically consider those caught in battle as such. The men captured here today who were physically up to it would be sold as slave labor or sent to the Fighting Pits to entertain their Masters and possibly earn them coin; the men who weren't up to such endeavors would instead likely be executed or simply left behind to fend for themselves in the ashes of their village.
There were, of course, two other options for men who looked like this one, with both of these opportunities employing the tool they carried around with them down below their belt line. Women from the Royal, Noble, and even Merchant classes often paid good money to be serviced by such men, particularly if their Masters -- or in Melody's case, Mistress -- portrayed them as mindless, heathenistic, groin thrusting barbarians. There was something about a man who was barely more than an animal -- whether actually so or simply made to seem that way -- that caused women of means to quickly and eagerly drop their coins and their undergarments to be serviced by such.
Breeders, of course, didn't require any specialized equipment down yonder to pass on their strength, endurance, size, and more. As for that other service ... well, Melody couldn't yet know whether or not this particular man had would fill her purse with coins. But she'd find out soon enough.
Melody looked to the man again, studied him a moment, then ordered the Captain, "Ensure that he knows that if he becomes any sort of a problem that I will have all of the children disemboweled before the rest of the slaves."
The Captain reacted with a bit of surprise; Melody was known for sometimes being ruthless, but this was a new one for the Captain. He gave her a respectful head nod and fist to the chest again and said, "Yes, m'lady."
And with that done, Melody headed off into the midst of the conflagration to see if the damage for total or there might be something worth saving from the flames.
I have created 2 roleplays based upon this same "Universe". Although they each begin with this same historical background, they diverge quickly due to the actions and personal backgrounds of the main characters.
I did not create this map. I "borrowed" it from the internet.
Originally, the black triangles represented mountain peaks. In our story, they represent towns.
The yellow terrain surrounding these towns (black triangles) originally designated highlands. In our story, they simply represent areas of higher human development (ranches, farms, and mines).
Stars: capitals of the 4 similarly colored sovereign nations (white, blue, red, green).
Dots: other cities of the similarly colored nation.
Triangles: towns (unnamed on the map) which are generally but not always ruled by the nearest capital city.
Grey circle (Un, on the Island of Tella-Un): a religious site holy to all nations; the world's only active volcano.
The Sovereign Nations:
Southernmost of the sovereign lands.
It was once the greatest and most powerful nation. Now, however:
It has the smallest population: ~25,000.
It has the least wealth in resources.
It has the smallest treasury.
It has the smallest armed forces, with only 200 cavalry, 1,000 skilled warriors, 2,000 potential conscripts, and 200 sailors/marines on 5 warships.
It is ruled by a Prime Minister, who is selected by a Council of Nobles. He also serves as Lord Mayor of the capital city, Yalla.
Each of the Nobles rules his (or rarely her) city or town as a Feudal Lord.
Historically, the Prime Minister had great power, including the right to insist that the Nobles support his war declarations with armed forces, resources, and coin. This is no longer true; the Nobles now do essentially what they like.
Capital: Yalla (pop. 5,000)
Marcan (pop. 4,000) on the Island of Tella-Un.
Sutla (pop. 3,000) on the Island of Sufi in the inland Sea of Yalla.
Savat (pop. 2,000) on the island of Sevu in the inland Sea of Vint.
Rlawell and Abad (pops. 1,000 each) in the southern reaches of the Fenwater.
4 towns (black triangles; pops. 200-600) to the southwest of the Capital City.
Dozens of small-to-medium sized villages (pops. 50-200).
Note: Yalla does not have control over the waters surrounding its island cities. The inner seas are almost exclusively controlled by the usually friendly Vint.
See next hider for list of towns lost by Yalla to other nations.
Tiala (pop. 3,000): given over to the Kingdom of Vint in lieu of debts owed 20 years BRP (before role play).
Tut (pop. 3,000): seized by force by the Frenkish Empire 10 years BRP.
5 of the 9 towns (black triangles) it formerly controlled.
1 town north of Tut, captured by the Frenkish Empire 10 BRP.
2 towns in the Salfar Mountains, lost to Barbarians. (They still exist but are shadows of their former selves.)
1 town on far side of the Kokalla River, which joined the Meretheni Federation 2 years BRP.
The coastal villages and coastal waters from the mouth of the Kokalla River to the Eastern Blight.
The navies of the Republic of Yalla and the Frenkish Empire battled in the Eastern Blight during the war over Tut.
Yalla's navy was utterly destroyed.
The Eastern Blight became Frenkish Empire Territory.
The Dead Coast (named such because no long term communities have ever survived there) is now patrolled by the Kingdom of Vint's navy (to keep the Frenkish navy in the north).
It is the westernmost and largest of the sovereign lands, stretching from Frost Bay in the north to the mouth of the Kokalla River in the south.
It has the greatest population, currently at over 100,000 and growing 10% year after year.
It is simultaneously rich and poor:
It has the greatest per capita wealth, the lowest level of poverty, and -- at nearly 25% -- the highest literacy rate of all the sovereign nations.
However, it has a modest treasury due to the generosity of its Ruling Class to its Middle and Under Classes.
Its arable lands make it the most agriculturally productive of the sovereign nations; it exports half of what it grows each year.
It lacks ores and minerals, however, importing them primarily from the Frenkish Empire.
Its standing army is the second largest after that of the Frenkish Empire.
It's available conscription army (2 years compulsory service, age 16-18) is the largest, however, with more fully trained warriors than the other sovereign nations combined.
It has the second largest navy after that of Vint.
During times of peace, the standing army is engaged in civil works projects while the navy supplements the merchant and fishing fleets in their work.
It is the most democratic of the sovereign states with a Bicameral Council of Elected Ministers:
Each population center (cities, towns, villages) elects 1 Minister for each of its 500 residents (free men, women, and children).
Villages and towns with less than 500 residents must combine their populations for the purpose of elections.
The House of the People meets 2 times a year (just prior to the planting season and just after the main harvest) to discuss and vote on issues brought before it by its Ministers.
Motions passed by the supermajority of 60% are forwarded to the House of the Lords.
While all free men, women, and children are included in the census population, only free males who are property owners or registered with the Army/Navy as active personnel, veterans of war, or willing and trained conscripts can vote.
Each Nobleman or Noblewoman is also a Minister to the House of Lords.
The House of the Lords meets one fortnight after the House of the People concludes its own work.
It discusses and votes on Motions sent to it from that lower House.
Motions that are passed take effect as determined within the motion's text.
Motions that fail are returned to a Resolution Committee of Ministers of the House of the People.
These Committee Ministers are chosen by their House's membership to stay behind while the majority of the men return to their individual communities to return to their work.
If 80% of the Committee Ministers vote to override the Motion declined by the House of Lords, the Motion becomes law.
Becoming a Noble is a matter of inheriting the role or being elevated from the masses by the House of Lords itself, a process which doesn't happen often; it happens even less often for Ladies.
Nation's population: 100,000 and growing 10% annually.
Eight towns (black triangles; pops. 400-1000), including the town northwest of the mouth of the Kokalla River, which defected from the Republic of Yalla.
And more than 150 small villages (fishing villages on the coast, farming villages on The Great Steppe, and logging villages in the forests) ranging from (pops. 50-400); these are not indicated on the map.
Coastline and coastal waters: from the mouth of the Kokalla River in the south to the Frost Bay in the north.
It is the central most of the 4 nations and extends from the extreme north to the extreme south, including control over:
The northern mainland territories between the Meretheni Federation and the Frenkish Empire.
Nearly the entirety of the inner seas; reasons discussed further below.
The Sacred Island of Tella-Un (with the exception of the Yallan City of Marcan).
The City of Tiala (formerly a possession of the Republic of Yalla) on the shore of the Long Sea.
The Land Corridor of the Kokalla River, between the inner and outer seas.
As well as various ports on the southern and northern shores of the outer seas.
It should be noted that Vint enforces a Policy of Cooperation regarding the Kokalla River:
The Meretheni Federation and the Republic of Yalla -- both considered friends of Vint -- have relatively free (but taxed) merchant vessel access to the river, to the ports at its ends, and to the villages along the route.
No military vessels from these two nations are allowed on the river without a Vint escort. Weapons are typically collected from these vessels prior to entering the river and returned once the vessels have completed their transit, though, this demand is sometimes waved.
Merchant vessels from the Frenkish Empire -- not a friend of Vint -- must have both an Vint warship escort and Vint marines aboard each vessel.
Frenkish warships are not permitted passage through the Kokalla River.
It has the second greatest population of the four sovereign nations, currently at over XX,XXX.
It is a nation of the very rich and very poor:
Its Royal Family is by far the wealthiest family in the history of the world.
It has a great number of very rich Nobles who are loyal to the King.
It also has a large and poor peasantry, as well as the largest slave class of the four sovereign nations.
Literacy is considered a right and privilege of the rich and powerful. Lower class people who demonstrate literacy often simply disappear, never to be seen again.
Its arable lands are very fertile, but there aren't enough acres to feed the population, therefore Vint imports from the Meretheni Federations.
It once produced enough ore to satisfy its needs, but:
The Frenkish Empire seized control of most of its mining territories in the the northeast.
To fulfill their need, Vint seized control of the Holy Island of Tella-Un, on which there are many ore mines.
This wasn't popular with the other sovereign nations, but there really wasn't anyone to stop them.
Its standing and standby (conscription) military are modest but suitable to protect their border with the Frenkish Empire, it's only current enemy.
Its true military power lies in its navy:
Decades ago, Vint ship builders designed warships, transports, and merchant vessels that were faster, more solidly built, and more heavily armed than anything ever built.
They used their navy (supported by their army) to seize control of ports all about the inner seas, making it nearly impossible for the other nations to conduct business over the seas without paying for the privilege.
They seized the Land Corridor of the Kokally River for some time before coming to an agreement with the Meretheni Federation and the Republic of Yalla for it to be a cooperatively shared Corridor.
Their navy now patrols the southeastern Dead Coast to keep the Frenkish Empire's navy away from it.
It is a dictatorial monarchy, headed by a King.
The King designates trusted and loyal Nobles to rule over Regions, Cities, Towns, mines, ports, etc.
He keeps them in line with the carrot (wealth and power) and the stick (threats of beheading should they betray him).
Population over XX,XXX.
Capital: Vint (pop. 25,000)
Virta (pop. 18,000)
Suva (pop. 9,000) and Ketch (pop. 8,000) on the Island of Tella-Un.
Tiala (pop. 7,000) in Republic of Yalla territory, taken in lieu of a massive debt.
4 towns (black triangles; pops. 400-1000) in the north, two of them in constant fear of being invaded by Frenkish forces.
As many as 150 small villages throughout its territories (pops. 50-400) that are not indicated on the map.
Found in the northeast of the world, it is the 3rd largest by size and population both.
Its extends from the city of Sipriot in its northwest (which it seized from Virt 8 years BRP) to the city of Tut in its south (which it seized from Yalla 10 years BRP) and includes all the land and islands to the east and north of those two cities.
Although it has shoreline on the inner seas (the Small Sea and the Long Sea), it has no settlements on those shores; the Kingdom of Vint prevents this, as well as preventing the construction and/or deployment of vessels here.
Emperor Frenk the Hearty is an absolute monarch and harsh dictator.
The Noble Class is made up almost entirely of the Emperor's Consorts -- who are many -- and his 100+ children, some of whom are land-controlling Nobles despite barely being into double digit ages -- the descendants, not the Consorts.
These Nobles rule over Regions, Cities, Towns, mines, ports, etc., but no single Noble controls enough population or wealth to have the ability to become a rebellious threat to the Emperor.
The Emperor tours the Empire almost constantly, spending a few days in each location to review its current situations, collect the harsh taxes, and roll about in the ruling Consort's bed before moving on to the next location and bed.
He replaces Consorts often, either for failing to rule as he sees fit or for failing to please him in bed as he demands.
During the Emperor's absence, Consorts are escorted by bodyguards at all hours of the day to ensure they do not invite other men into their beds; these bodyguards are generally large, ugly, eunuchs who -- despite having given up their balls -- who are very well paid to do the Emperor's bidding.
Consorts are, however, permitted to have female lovers. These lovers must also make themselves available to the Emperor on his visits. Often, if he appreciates the services of a Consort's lover, the Emperor replaces the former with the latter. Because of this, Consorts tend to keep their female lovers' identities secret. However, the Bodyguards rarely miss this, and Consorts who hide such information are often quickly replaced, sometimes by their lovers.
Rule over the Nobles and general population alike is typically via the stick and seldom the carrot.
Nobles, whether Consort or otherwise:
Are permitted limited governance over their cities and towns. The Emperor has final say over any and all issues.
Are heavily taxed, specifically to prevent them currying favor with others via coin, particularly military forces which might attempt to overthrow the Emperor.
Are monitored closely by spies and guards who report directly to the Emperor.
Are, if not a Consort, chosen spouses by the Emperor himself, often from his own line of Consorts. This is done to prevent the formation of potentially threatening alliances between Noble families.
Its standing army is the largest of the sovereign nations.
Its standby (conscription) military is large but undertrained.
Its navy is the 2nd largest by number of ships and available sailors and marines, but the vessels are old and poor in quality.
To prevent Nobles from easily raising rebellious forces, conscripts and volunteers alike are not allowed to serve directly under the Nobles from their homelands; they are relocated to distant locations where they are trained and commanded by Officers not of their own homelands, Officers who are loyal directly to the Emperor
Its arable lands are very fertile, but with the majority of the harvests diverted to the army (as taxes paid by Nobles to the Emperor), the peasantry is often on the verge of starvation or already deep into famine.
The Emperor will, however, sometimes purchase vast quantities of food from the Meretheni Federation to prevent famine.
It's fisheries and seal and whale hunting industries are very valuable.
Population over ~80,000.
Capital: Ras Rufna (pop. 22,000), which was a Kingdom of Vint city until Emperor Frenk seized it 25 years BRP.
LentFrenk (pop. 15,000), the empire's birth place.
Nurva (pop. 8,000)
Bind (pop. 6,000)
Sipriot (pop. 5,000), formerly a Kingdom of Vint city.
Tut (pop. 4,000), formerly a Republic of Yalla city.
12 towns (black triangles; pops. 400-1000).
As many as 200 small villages (many of them little more than military outposts) throughout its territories (pops. 50-300) that are not indicated on the map.
I did not create this map but instead "borrowed" it from the internet.
Originally, the black triangles signified mountain peaks, but in our story they represent towns.
Additionally, the yellow terrain surrounding the black triangles originally indicated highlands, whereas in our story they represent areas of higher rural population density (farms, ranches, etc.)
Stars: capitals (large walled cities) of the sovereign nations of the same color (white, blue, red, green).
Dots: other walled cities (ruled by the capitals of the same color).
Triangles: towns (most also walled) which are generally but not always ruled by the nearest capital city.
Grey circle (Un, on the Island of Tella-Un): a religious site holy to all nations. It is the only active volcano known to exist; a 10 mile wide, 3,000 foot deep crater filled with roiling lava.
It is the southernmost of the sovereign lands.
It was once the greatest and most powerful nation. Now, however:
It has the smallest population of the 4 sovereign nations at just over 25,000.
It has the least wealth in resources and smallest treasury.
And it has the smallest armed forces: 200 cavalry, 1,000 skilled warriors, 2,000 potential conscripts, and 200 sailors/marines on 5 warships.
Government:
It is ruled by a Prime Minister, who is selected by a Council of Lords.
Each of the Lords rules his city or town.
The Prime Minister of the Republic of Yalla also serves as Lord Mayor of the capital city, Yalla.
While the Prime Minister has the historical right to call upon his Lords to provide armed forces in the time of conflict, recent history has shown that the Lords do essentially what they like.
The Republic of Yalla currently includes:
The Capital City of Yalla (pop. 5,000)
The City of Marcan (pop. 4,000) on the Island of Tella-Un.
The City of Sutla (pop. 3,000) on the Island of Sufi in the inland Sea of Yalla.
The City of Savat (pop. 2,000) on the island of Sevu in the inland Sea of Vint.
And the Cities of Rlawell and Abad (pops. 1,000 each) in the southern reaches of the Fenwater, which itself is northwest of the inland seas.
Four towns (black triangles; pops. 200-600) to the southwest of the Capital City.
Dozens of small-to-medium sized villages (pops. 50-200) that are not indicated on the map.
As well as most of the lands surrounding these cities. (Yalla does not have solitary control over the inland seas surrounding its island cities, however. That control is in the hands of usually friendly Vint.)
The Republic of Yalla historically included far greater land and water territories, including but not limited to:
The City of Tiala (pop. 3,000), over which Vint took control 20 years BRP (before role play) to ease Yalla's debt problems.
The City of Tut (pop. 3,000), conquered by the Frenkish Empire 5 years BRP.
5 of the 9 towns (black triangles) it formerly controlled.
The town just to the north of Tut was captured by the Frenkish Empire 5 years ago during its Tut campaign.
The two eastern towns nearest Tiala defected to Vint shortly after Tut fell to the Frenkish Empire, fearing that Yalla could not defend them if they, too, were attacked. (Yalla did not put up a fight to keep these towns as the forces simply weren't available.)
And the westernmost town on the far side of the Kokalla River elected to join the Meretheni Federation 2 years ago and is now occupied and protected by troops from that nation. (Again, Yalla did not put up a fight to keep these towns.)
While the Republic of Yalla considers the Frenkish Empire an enemy, it considers Vint and the Meretheni Federation friends.
The coastline and coastal waters from the mouth of the Kokalla River to the Eastern Blight, nearly all of which is now controlled by other nations.
The Republic of Yalla sent its navy to the Eastern Blight during the war over Tut, where it was soundly defeated.
Yalla lost control of The Dead Coast (named such because no long term communities ever survived there).
Vint -- a naval super power that uses the Kokalla river to access the outer seas -- protects the southern coasts from further Frenkish expansion.
It is the westernmost and largest of the sovereign lands, stretching from Frost Bay in the north to the mouth of the Kokalla River in the south.
It has the greatest population, currently at over 100,000 and growing 10% year after year.
It is simultaneously rich and poor:
It has the greatest per capita wealth, the lowest level of poverty, and -- at nearly 25% -- the highest literacy rate of all the sovereign nations.
However, it has a modest treasury due to the generosity of its Ruling Class to its Middle and Under Classes.
Its arable lands make it the most agriculturally productive of the sovereign nations; it exports half of what it grows each year.
It lacks ores and minerals, however, importing them primarily from the Frenkish Empire.
Its standing and standby military is relatively large:
While its standing army is the second largest -- the Frenkish Empire's standing army is the largest -- it had the largest available conscription army by far, with more registered and trained military members than the other sovereign nations combined.
It has the second largest navy after that of Vint.
During time of peace, the standing army is engaged in civil works projects while the navy supplements the merchant and fishing fleets in their work.
Government:
It is the most democratic of the sovereign states.
It is ruled over by a Bicameral Council of Elected Ministers:
Each population center (cities, towns, villages) elects 1 Minister for each of its 500 residents (free men, women, and children).
Villages and towns with less than 500 residents must combine their populations for the purpose of elections.
The House of the People meets 2 times a year (just prior to the planting season and just after the main harvest) to discuss and vote on issues brought before it by its Ministers.
Motions passed by the supermajority of 60% are forwarded to the House of the Lords.
While all free men, women, and children are included in the census population, only free males who are property owners or registered with the Army/Navy as active personnel, veterans of war, or willing and trained conscripts can vote.
Each Nobleman or Noblewoman is also a Minister to the House of Lords.
The House of the Lords meets one fortnight after the House of the People concludes its own work.
It discusses and votes on Motions sent to it from that lower House.
Motions that are passed take effect as determined within the motion's text.
Motions that fail are returned to a Resolution Committee of Ministers of the House of the People.
These Committee Ministers are chosen by their House's membership to stay behind while the majority of the men return to their individual communities to return to their work.
If 80% of the Committee Ministers vote to override the Motion declined by the House of Lords, the Motion becomes law.
Becoming a Noble is a matter of inheriting the role or being elevated from the masses by the House of Lords itself, a process which doesn't happen often; it happens even less often for Ladies.
Population over 100,000 and growing 10% annually.
The Capital City of Forthala (pop. 20,000)
The City of Lotha (pop. 12,000), Kinth (pop. 11,000), Morbeth (pop. 9,000), Tothan (pop. 7,000), and Lux (pop. 6,000).
Eight towns (black triangles; pops. 400-1000), including the town northwest of the mouth of the Kokalla River which used to belong to the Republic of Yalla.
And more than 150 small villages (fishing villages on the coast, farming villages on The Great Steppe, and logging villages in the forests) ranging from (pops. 50-400) that are not indicated on the map.
The coastline and coastal waters from the mouth of the Kokalla River in the south to the Frost Bay in the north are Meretheni territorial waters.
She'd been called Melody for as long as she could remember, most of her 20 winters of life. It wasn't her true name; she didn't know her true name and those who did had been sworn to keep it from her less they lose their heads.
They wouldn't have been the first to lose their heads in her presence, of course; as she looked down upon the now burning village from where her horse stood still as a statue on a nearby hillock, Melody was sure heads had rolled this very day. She hadn't meant things to go this way, of course. She'd sent an envoy down to the small community shortly after sunrise to peacefully request food and shelter, only to watch as the man and his four escorts were taken down by arrows loosed from multiple directions.
Melody couldn't know what had led to the attack: misunderstanding, language barrier, fear on the villagers' part that their visitors were not as peaceful as they seemed. Whatever the reason, the attack had to be answered. It was, of course, by fire arrows, cavalry, and foot warriors. In the end, as their homes burned behind them, the two dozen survivors of the attack found themselves herded away from the inferno, forced to squat in the mud of a recent rain, and surrounded by their captors.
The ankles of the males were shackled with chains, the women by rope; the children were left unsecured. Once the survivors were trussed up, most of Melody's force set about collecting the stock animals, harvested crops, and other valuable resources.
It wasn't only men serving Melody; her Clan was not simply an invading horde of blood thirty adult male warriors but was in fact an ever-traveling community that included men, women, and children of all ages, much like the village they'd just destroyed.
By now, those on the hillock had descended and dismounted near the collected captives. Melody found there was an almost equal number of men, women, and children. The men were mostly elderly, infirmed, or injured; as expected, the majority of the fighting aged men had engaged with the attackers and been killed.
Many of the women were of childbearing age; many of those had children clinging to them for safety and reassurance; and, Melody was happy to see, many of the rest could easily be considered young and beautiful. These women would fetch a pretty price at the slave market in Yalla.
"Kapiten!"
One of the nearby men who was directing other men's actions heard Melody's call. He sent his subordinates off to continue with their pillaging and hurried to her, pressing his fisted hand to his chest in salute before responding, "Yes, m'lady."
"We will make camp here for the day to give the men rest," she told him. She looked to the hostages, then directed, "Kill a bullock and put two of these men to preparing it for the fire pit. Select six women to slaughter the chickens, ducks, geese."
"All of them, m'lady?" he asked.
"All of them," she instructed. "Easier to transport dead, cooked birds than live one, wouldn't you agree, Kapiten?"
"Yes, m'lady," he answered, nodding his head respectfully.
"Look for rabbit hutches," she continued, again looking into the crowd of survivors. "If the cages can be transported..."
Her voice trailed off as her gaze met the gaze of a most incredible looking young woman sitting near the middle of the group. The Captain, thinking he was intended to complete his Lady's request filled in, "We will load them on the carts, m'lady. If they aren't, we'll add them to the fire."
When Melody only continued to stare at the other woman in silence, the Captain asked politely, "Will that be all, m'lady?"
"No," she said softly. After another moment of simply staring at the woman with a slightly awed expression, Melody ordered, "Ensure my tent is erected first."
"Of course, m'lady--"
"And heat some water for my bath."
"Yes, m'lady, of course," he continued his acknowledgments. He looked toward the hillock over which the road to the village passed to see the procession of women, children, and carts nearing now that the fighting was over. "Your Ladies are nearly here to--"
"Bring her to my tent," Melody cut in. The Captain followed his Lady's gaze to the young beauty sitting in the mud. Melody turned to leave, as if no further orders were needed, adding only, "Remove her bindings and put her to work hauling water and building the fire."
"M'lady...?" the Captain said, looking for clarification; the woman in question had just seen her village destroyed and more than half of its inhabitants -- including most of the men and possibly her husband, father, and/or brothers -- killed in the process, and yet Melody wanted her unbound to enable service? "Are you sure about this?"
Melody stopped, looked to the Captain, then to the young woman, and -- ensuring that the latter could hear her -- said, "Ensure she knows that if she becomes any sort of a fuss ... I will kill all the children."
The Captain was a tad bit surprised by this as well, yet he gave her a respectful head nod and fist to the chest again and said, "Yes, m'lady."
And with that done, Melody headed off into the midst of the conflagration as if she had no fear of its flames causing her any harm at all.
(Note to my readers, assuming I have any: this post is sexual in nature but not graphic. If you don't care to read it, go to the very bottom of the post for a summary.)
21 November 2021 Day 8:
Over the last two days, the tension between the camps had shifted from hot war to cold war, with no one from either camp going to the other with the exception of some of the Medical Staff and various patients, most of whom traveled from their homes to the Infirmary and back. Harry had lessened the night time watches a bit but was still wary of Javier; he wasn't that concerned with Victoria herself after her show the night of the briar snare incident, but the gun runner -- specifically his leveling of a Beretta 9mm pistol at his face -- was still very much on Harry's mind.
He sent Harvey and another armed man with Cliff and the Hunters to check the snares and do some fishing in a small pool and the creek entering and exiting it. It was a shared location between the two camps as it was the nearest place for fishing, bathing, and washing clothes. Harry and Victoria had agreed to switching days at the pool, to avoid any possibly problems between the two populations of survivors. Harry's hope that Victoria would give up this silly quest of hers to run her own group had thus far failed him. There's always tomorrow, he would tell himself.
Just downstream from the pond, Cliff tossed a makeshift crayfish trap into the shallow waters amidst some large, mossy stones. They'd created it from a wire mesh container salvaged from the plane and baited it with the leftover corpse of a roasted rabbit. Seeing it settle appropriately on the bottom for catching crawdads, the teen then turned his attention to the young woman who was walking carefully barefoot across the bottom of the creek, despite the very cold-water running past and over her calves and feet.
Tammy Wagner had been a beauty before she'd cleaned up her act and gotten off stimulants, downers, and whatever else she could find to alter her state of mind. Now, though, Cliff found her simply incredible. She'd shed her sweatshirt up on the shore before entering the creek, showing off her delicious hour glass figure and plentiful breasts with their now conspicuously pert nipples. She hadn't been paying Cliff much attention since the crash; she had had other issues, of course, and -- though he was legally an adult at 18 -- he was still a kid in her mind, a boy who was yet to experience even a fraction of the good and bad she herself had.
Tammy stopped to ensure she had her balance, then looked up the creek toward where others were fishing, then down stream to where Cliff had leaned against a tree to simply watch her with a yearning expression. It wasn't until she smiled wide at him that Cliff realized he was being watched as well. He quickly dropped his eyes, then looked to the creek as if the trap required his attention.
"It's okay, you know," she called to Cliff as she started walking carefully over the sandy and pebbly bottom his direction. When he only looked to her with a questioning expression, she clarified, "It's okay for you to look at girls that way ... women ... whatever."
"I wasn't looking at you any way," he said shyly. A moment later, as he watched her simply smile while coming closer, he asked, "What way? What way do you think I was looking at you, I mean."
Tammy waited until she was almost within arms distance of Cliff before she said with a soft tone, "Like you want to see me naked."
Cliff's face exploded in a fiery red blush as his eyes widened dramatically. Despite his shock, the teen couldn't prevent his eyes from dropping to the 24year-old beauty's incredible bosom, the very tits that he'd been imagining were on full display to him.
Tammy laughed, reached a hand down into the creek, and splashed a handful of water up at him, not soaking Cliff but hitting him enough that he shivered at the chill. He argued, not really thinking first about his words, "I don't want to see you naked."
Tammy feigned an expression of shock, asking, "You don't?" Cliff stumbled over the words as he tried to explain that what he meant was that he hadn't been staring at her and imagining her naked, and after letting him fumble with himself for a bit, she laughed and said, "Relax, Cliff. I was just messing with you."
She waggled a hand to him for help, got it, and rose up out of the creek bed; she ended up just inches from him, their faces level with one another. Tammy gazed into Cliff's eyes for a long moment, a flirty smile on her lips; she was still holding his hand, even though he had let his own grip lessen. She asked almost in a whisper, "You do want to see me naked, though ... don't you, Cliff?"
She could feel his hand trembling in her own as he opened his mouth to respond but said nothing. His back was against the tree now, and Tammy moved in close enough that her swollen nipples were just a split hair away from touching his chest. She purred, "What would you do for me if I let you see me naked?"
Again, Cliff tried to formulate a response without any words coming out of his mouth. Tammy continued, "I've been told that in the plane, there is a box filled with personal hygiene items taken from some of the suitcases of the dead. And I hear that one of the items in there are a bunch of little hotel bottles of soaps and conditioners and skin conditioner that some klepto collected while on vacation. Have you heard this, too?"
Cliff's response this time was a very honest shaking of his head. Oh, he knew that there was a stash of resources in the plane, of course; everyone knew that. But as to specifics, that hadn't really been anything of concern to him as his mother had been dealing with fulfilling the needs her children had.
"You get me a bottle of each -- shampoo, conditioner, skin conditioner -- and I'll show you my tits," she went on, now pressing forward until her bosom was pressed firmly against the teen's chest. She continued, "You get me two of each, and I'll let you fondle them. You every fondled a woman's boobs, Cliff?"
Again, his response was a very honest shaking of his head. Tammy smiled wider; she laid her hands on the boy's hips, letting her thumbs caress over his waist and inward toward his groin just enough to possibly feel intimate to him ... as which Cliff most definitely interpreted it.
"You get me three of each," she continued, lifting herself on her bared tippy toes until her mouth was just an inch from Cliff's, "and I'll go skinny dipping with you."
She moved her face forward to press her lips softly against the boy's for a short but intimate moment. Then, lowering herself again, she backed away, hesitated, and turned to walk the bank toward her shoes and sweatshirt. She let her hips sway a bit more dramatically than normal, and she donned her shoes by leaning forward excessively to flash her tight, round ass at him.
Tammy gave Cliff one last look, smile, and wink over her shoulder before she told him, "I gotta go pick some mushrooms and stuff. Gotta earn my keep."
And with that, she hurried off into the forest to join up with the foragers to whom she'd excused herself with a feigned need to pee behind a tree.
Near the creek's edge, Cliff -- his heart still pounding, his penis harder than it had ever been in his life -- looked about for sign of anyone who might have seen that which had just transpired. He saw no one, not that he'd expected to. Feeling alone, but actually and emotionally, he slipped away into the thick underbrush to deal with the problem with which Tammy had left him.
Later that night:
Cliff had been trying to get Tammy alone since sundown, disappointed that she was so popular with the others, particularly the men. After dinner and some singing and game playing to fill the space that used to be filled by cell phone games and cable television, Tammy excused herself from the group encircling the fire. Cliff jumped on the opportunity to slip up close enough to whisper, "Can we talk ... in private?"
Tammy was hopeful about the reason for the requested conversation but tempered her enthusiasm when she saw a lack of plastic bottles in Cliff's hand or maybe a little bag of such over his shoulder. Still, she said, "Sure."
She began to lead him away from the group, but Cliff said, "No, this way."
He led her off toward a cluster of shrubs and small trees between which had been strung wires for hanging washed clothes. Once there, he told her to stay put, disappeared into the little grove, then returned with a small child's backpack. He unzipped and opened it: it was filled with dozens of little bodies, miniature bars of soap, and more.
Tammy's eyes widened and her mouth fell open. "My God, Cliff. What have you done?"
"This is good, right?" he asked desperately. "This is what you wanted?"
Tammy laughed. "Cliff, this is far more than what I asked for. In fact..." She looked back toward the camp fire and the people milling about, then back to the teen. She reached into the bag, pillaged it for a couple of samples of this and that, and stuffed them into the pockets of her jeans and hoodie's belly pouch. She zipped the bag shut again, telling Cliff, "Take it back."
Now it was his turn to looked surprised: "Whaddaya mean?"
"Take it back!" she repeated. "This is too much. They'll notice this, and they'll start snooping around, looking for answers, and you'll get in trouble. Big trouble."
Tammy moved close again, stood on her toes again, and kissed Cliff again, only this time more passionately with her lips parting slightly, encouraging the teen to part his own lips to experience the tip of her tongue reaching out. She moved back again, smiled, and said, "Put it back, and meet me at the atream tomorrow where we were today."
"Tomorrow isn't our day," he reminded her. "Victoria's people will be there."
She thought for a moment, then instructed, "Meet me at noon where that funky tree is ... you know the one ... the one that looks like a pitchfork."
She backed away, flashed some of the bottles still in her hands, and promised, "You're gonna be rewarded for this, Cliff. Trust me."
Tammy turned and hurried back toward the little lean-to she shared with Julia, giggling in delight.
Essentially, 24 year old Tammy promised 18 year old Cliff a personal viewing and maybe even some touchy-feely stuff if he would steal her some personal hygiene needs -- shampoo, conditioner, soap -- from the cache in the fuselage. He was so eager for "interaction" with her that he stole ALL of it, after which she told him to take the bulk of it back and meet her the next day in the woods. Not really sexual at all, was it?
It was a long night for many in Harry Timm's group: extra watches were posted, to watch for not just Saber-toothed cats but for encroachment from Victoria's group. Other than some rude and sometimes profane comments hollered through the dark across the hundred-yard gap between the two encampments, though, there hadn't been anything of serious concern.
That is until the sun came up and Cliff Sampson-- with a proper, armed escort -- went out to check the snares. For the first time since he'd begun setting the traps, they hadn't caught a single animal. Most of the traps were still set, and Cliff worried for a moment that maybe they'd overhunted the forest's edge or perhaps the remaining, yet-to-be-trapped animals had gotten wise to the snares. Then he caught a little detail that both angered and frightened him.
"Victoria's people raided our snares last night," Cliff told Harry when he returned to the camp. He had the working mechanisms of a new snare he'd been ready to install this morning; it worked identically to the currently placed trap that led him to the discovery. He showed Harry how it was supposed to be set and then how he found it. "They took whatever got caught in it last night or this morning, then reset it."
"Are you sure, Cliff?" Harry inquired. "I mean, maybe--"
"I found two others the same way," Cliff cut the group's leader off, knowing that Harry had been about to ask if maybe he'd set it a different way last night. "Whoever did this thought they were setting it correctly. The trap would have still worked, but ... it's not the way I set them. I'm sure of this, Harry. And ... I think I know who did it, too."
Harry almost didn't want to know who was responsible: putting a name and face on the thief meant possibly having to do more about it than simply questioning Victoria about her people. It meant actually punishing someone specific. After all, this couldn't go without a challenge.
"That Javier guy," Cliff informed Harry. "He went out with us day before yesterday, as our armed escort, in case the Cat was prowling about, he said. He saw where all the traps were set. He's the only one of Victoria's people who knew where they were."
Harry thought on the news a moment, then thanked Cliff and told him, "I'll deal with this. I don't want you going into the forest without an armed escort ... without my knowledge either. Your mother would kill me if you got--"
He'd been about to say hurt or assaulted, speaking about what Victoria's thugs might do if Cliff came upon them looting his traps. Instead, he finished, "Inform me before you go back out there again ... got it?"
"Yes, sir," Cliff said before turning to head off again.
But before he got far, Harry called, "Wait!" The teen turned back, and Harry -- with a spreading smirk on his lips -- said, "Cliff, I have an idea that ... well, it just might solve our problems."
Cliff, Harry, and Harvey headed out into the forest again. They looked for signs of the path that Javier -- or whoever -- might have taken to get to the snares. They found it: like something out of an Old West tracking mission, they found still visible shoe prints in the soft ground and broken branches and grass where the intruder had made his way through sometimes thick foliage.
"Here," Harry said when they found an appropriate location. He looked to the teen and asked, "Can you do it here?"
Cliff looked the location over, smiled, and nodded.
An hour later, they were back at the camp. Later, just before sundown, the trio -- along with three others -- returned to check the traps; they retrieved a rabbit and an opossum, as well as half a dozen tweety birds, all of which would become part of the night's meal for the larger of the two groups of survivors.
After dark fell, Cliff slipped out of the little lean-to in which his family was now living in anticipation of building something larger, more solid, and more permanent. He used the light of the full moon to reach where the two-person night watch was set, just fifty yards or so from the fuselage. (There had been concern about the placement of the watch stations: too far out might endanger the night watch standers by not giving them a short enough retreat path to the camp, while too far in might result in the alarm raised by the night watch not giving the sleeping survivors enough alert time.)
"You're here," Cliff said with surprise, finding both Harry and Harvey at the station. To Harry, he said, "I thought you always took the 3rd watch."
"Not tonight," the leader said. Nodding his head toward the forest, he explained, "I think I better be here for this." He handed a plastic mug to Cliff, asking, "Coffee? It's almost the last cup in the pantry."
"Almost the last cup in the world," Cliff corrected as he took the mug. "Human beings didn't start drinking coffee until the 15th century A.D. ... 11,000 years from now."
Under the moonlight, Cliff saw the looks the two men gave him. He smiled and while they probably couldn't see it blushed, too. "I did a report on stimulants for Health, junior year." He sipped at the cup, grimaced, and handed it back. "That's awful."
Harvey spoke up, asking, "Whaddaya mean 11,000 years from now. Where'd you get that?"
"From Julia," Cliff answered. "She knows so much about plants ... flora she calls it. Putting together what she knows about flora and the fact that a Saber-tooth cat--"
"Theory," Harry cut in, softly chastising, "And we don't talk about that. We have enough panic already."
"The theory that Harold got eaten by a Saber-tooth cat," Cliff continued, "along with everything else we know about this place, Julia and Helen think -- you know she's a history teacher, right?"
Cliff got a nod from Harry regarding his shared knowledge of Helen Hartford. He continued, "Anyway, they think that we might be at the end of what they called the Younger-Dryas period. She -- Helen -- called it the LGP, the Last Glacial Period, capital 'L', capital 'G', capital 'P'. It was the last ice age, and it happened between eleven and half and thirteen thousand years ago ... so ... before 10,000 B.C."
Both men were by now just staring at the teen in amazement. He realized this, chuckled, blushed yet again, and shrugged. "I remember things I hear, generally. And I like history. And ... Tammy was there and was listening, too, and ... well ... I sort of like Tammy, so..."
Harvey laughed and was contemplating something to say about the teen's chances of finding love in the LGP with a damaged woman a handful of years older than him when the darkness was filled with screams of pain. All three men flinched in shock, looking off in the general direction of where they'd built their little surprise earlier in the day.
"Oh my god!" Cliff said in shock, unsure of what else to say. The man -- still crying out in agony -- wasn't dead, obviously, yet the teen asked with concern, "Did we kill him? I mean, do you think--"
"Relax, Cliff," Harry reassured him, "He'll be fine. It's just briar vines. It's not like we made a punji stick pit trap or anything deadly. Cuts and scratches, nothing the Doc can't fix." He looked to Harvey and said, "Speaking of which."
"I'm on it," the other man said, standing and hurrying for the fuselage.
"Go back to your family, Cliff," Harry said. "You don't need to be indicated in this." The teen didn't immediately leave, listening in shock to the injured man and a second man who was helping him as well. "Cliff, go. You shouldn't be out here."
The boy did as told, looking back over his shoulder each time the man who'd set off his briar slashing snare cried out at the help he was getting from his partner in crime. Cliff's mother, Shari, was awake when he returned, sitting up and also listening to the agony-filled cries. She asked him about it and where he'd been, to which he said as he slipped back into the shared blankets, "I was with Harry and Harvey at the night watch."
"What's going on out there?" she asked. "Who is that?"
"Dunno," he said, snuggling into the makeshift bed on the outside of his youngest sister. "Harry told me not to worry about it and go to bed. I'm sure he's dealing with it."
Shari continued making inquiries, but Cliff had gone quiet; he had no answers that he could share.
At the fuselage, Harvey gently awoke the sleeping doctor. Cooper Mason almost immediately detected the distant cries still cutting through the otherwise silent night. He asked what was happening, to which Harvey said, "Get you bag. You're gonna need antiseptics, bandages, and maybe some painkillers."
"I have very little of the first and none of the second," the Doctor said as he was quickly slipping into his shoes and coat. He asked again what was going on, asking a question that really didn't need an answer, "Is someone hurt?"
Harvey shrugged, but after a moment said, "Someone may have accidentally walked into a snare trap made of thorny briar vines ... meant to deter thieves from stealing food from our other snares."
Cooper's eyes widened in shock. As he headed for the door, he murmured, "Jesus Christ, what did you guys do?"
Outside, Harvey used the still hot coals and small flame of a nearby fire to light one of the torches Cliff's family had shown them all to make from available materials, both natural and manmade. The pair was joined by Harry now, and the three of them together headed for Victoria's camp. Halfway there, a guard hiding in the dark challenged them: Harry called out the three's identities, adding, "The Doc is here to help whoever it is that's screaming and waking everyone up. What's going on? What happened?"
The guard told them to stop, but a moment later Victoria called from her own camp, "Let'em through!"
They reached her, and Harry noticed immediately that his leadership counterpart didn't look at all as if she'd just been woken from a deep sleep. He said with an accusatory tone, "You're up late, Victoria. Don't suppose you have something going on you wish to tell me about?"
She stared at him a long moment; her expression told him that she suspected he had something to do with the screaming man. Her response, though, was "Just hanging with my people. I've always been a night owl."
Several quiet, tense moments passed while they all listened to the sounds of the two approaching men: one was still crying out and moaning while the other was telling him he was going to be okay, adding just before they came into the light of the fire, "Stop being such a big fuckin' baby."
Harry wasn't surprised to find out that one of the two men emerging from the darkness was Javier Flores, the man with the guns who -- according to Cliff Sampson -- was the only man from Victoria's camp who knew the location of many or even most of the snares. Unfortunately, Harry thought to himself, Javier wasn't the man who'd stepped into the trap: that honor went to William "Willie" Rogers, who was the only real outdoorsman type that Harry knew Victoria had in her little breakaway band.
Cooper hurried to Willie as the man dropped onto a crate near the fire. He asked with concern, "What the hell happened? Were you attacked? What did this to you?"
The Doctor already knew the facts of the ambush, of course, but he acted ignorant to the details anyway. Willie -- with bleeding scratches and cuts all about his exposed face, skull, neck, and hands -- looked toward the other two men from the other camp and accused angrily, "Those fuckers did this! They set a trap for us."
As Cooper instructed the man to strip his torso for a closer inspection, Harry took on an innocent tone and said, "I don't know what you're talking about. We set snares in our neck'o the woods to catch food. If you happened to walk into one of--"
"Bullshit!" Willie snapped. "That was no animal snare. You set that to catch one of us."
"Now, I don't understand how you come to that conclusion," Harry went on, sounding innocent as he could. "I mean, we wouldn't have expected you in that part of the forest, right? I mean, the only reason you would have had to be in that part of the forest in the dead of night ... would have been to raid our snares of the food that we need to feed our people."
He looked directly at Victoria now, the woman with whom he'd agreed on a division of territory for snares and hunting to prevent just such situations, an agreement that her people had violated not just once but twice and, now, were paying the price. He finished, "And I'm sure you wouldn't have done that, right? Come into our territory and take our food?"
There was a long moment of silence -- well, except for Willie's continuing sharp cries of pain as Cooper cleaned up his cuts -- after which Victoria finally spoke up: "I think Willie and Javier may have gotten lost. It was an accident, I'm sure, and I can reassure you, Harry, that it won't happen again."
"This is bullshit!" Javier growled. He stepped out from beyond Willie and Victoria and raised his Beretta up, pointing it directly at Harry's face.
Victoria growled, "Javier, stand down."
But Javier only pulled back the weapon's hammer and accused, "This asshole could have killed Willie, or me. You can't tell me that--"
"Put it down, Javier!" Victoria repeated.
"Why?" Javier asked, glancing to Harry's waistband where another of the Beretta's was tucked away. "I can shoot him down before he can get that thing out of his belt."
"Sure," Victoria said as she casted her gaze out into the darkness beyond the camp. "But after you shoot Harry, his people out there in the dark are going to kill all of us before we ever even figure out where in the grass they're hiding."
She looked to Harry and asked, "Am I right?"
Harry hesitated, then turned his head a whistled. A moment later, from a 120 degree fan around Victoria's camp, more than two dozen whistles came back to Harry. He looked to Javier, then Victoria: "We may only have 3 guns, seriously outnumbered by what you have ... but they have instructions to kill Javier first ... then you, Victoria ... then anyone else who raises or fires a weapon."
By now, the face of the previously confident and aggressive Javier was filled with obvious concern as his eyes searched the dark for his potential killer. Next to him, Victoria only stared at Harry with a smirk that seemed to show she was impressed. Harry stepped closer to Javier, reached his hand out, and regarding the pistol in the man's hand said, "I'll take that."
"What?" the gun runner asked, quickly adding, "Bullshit. You aren't taking my gun."
Harry hesitated, then whistles again. And yet again, dozens of whistles returned to him in the night. He stepped back a couple of steps, saying, "I don't know how good a shot they are, so ... maybe a couple of paces back.
But Victoria stepped in front of Javier and gestured for the weapon. Javier reluctantly handed it over, and Victoria turned back to Harry, offering it to him. She mused, "To the victor goes the spoils."
"Oh, it wasn't that so much as it was a fear that that fucker would shoot me in the back," Harry said as he took the handgun.
Victoria looked to her left and then to her right, seeing that by now nearly the whole of her group was up and around, listening to and watching the encounter with great interest. She said loud enough for all to hear, "[i]From this point forward, no one is to encroach upon the borders to which Harry and I agreed. No more filching from their snares; no more poaching in their territory; no more anything that can be considered a violation of our agreement. Understood?"
There was a low rumble of voices, some of which could have been interpreted as willing agreement while others could have been considered reluctance. Victoria looked back to Harry again, then to Cooper. She told the latter, "Thanks, Doc, but I think the Chief can take care of that."
Peter Wilson was just arriving near the fire, having hurried in from the dark with his belt unbuckled and still putting on his shirt. Harry knew the walk of shame expression he saw in the man's face, though, he'd more often than not only seen in the face of women as men rarely felt shame when they'd just gotten a little.
"Let's go, Doc," Harry said, urging the man to turn over responsibility for Willie. Cooper gave Peter a quick rundown of the worst of the cuts -- one of which was to the man's neck and would require stitches -- before joining Harry and Harvey for the return walk to their own camp.
In the dark, halfway home, Javier called out into the night, "This ain't over!"
Back at the camp, Harry set a double watch and stayed up all night himself.
Looking for either a male or female writer who will post at least 10 times a week. A couple of modest paragraphs are fine, even less if that is all that is needed. Looking for a conscientious writer who proofreads and puts some thought and care into giving me what I need, just as I will for you. I have a specific direction for the story, but I am open to some twists and turns so long as we stay on that path.
In an ancient (fictional) land, a raid on your village ends with you and several others from your tribe enslaved. The end.
Kidding; there's more.
My tribe is traveling across the country, and while our path may seem aimless, we do have a destination in mind. Of course, you won't know what it is at first because, after all, you're just a slave, more often than not shackled and guarded.
But you are a fairly magnificent example of manliness (or womanhood if you are a female), and my character -- the leader of the tribe -- begins to take a shine to you. She has you trained as a warrior, something you will do voluntarily if you want the others from your tribe to be treated kindly.
Ultimately, you will learn the whole truth of the story, but for now let's hold back some of the secrets, shall we?
There will be sex, but it won't be graphic, and it will mostly occur fade-to-black. (If you are 18+ and want to write that part of the story in PM, I would be open to that. But I'm not the type to write long, nasty, drawn-out sex scenes; I write erotica, not pornography.)
"So, what do we do about this?" Connie Flanagan asked her more senior attendant after seemingly half of the group simply walked away.
Harry Timms looked to his coworker, then to the distant group, then back. He shrugged: "Nothing."
"Nothing?" someone nearby asked. "Whaddaya mean nothing? They took most of the guns and almost half of the people."
Harry was disappointed, of course, but he neither saw anything to do about it nor any reason to do anything about it. He said before heading toward the fuselage to check on the injured, "They want to live apart from us, so be it. And as far as the guns go, we have four still and fifty rounds of ammo. It'll keep us safe from whatever this place has to offer us."
"And what about them?" another person asked, nodding a head toward the other, better armed group. "What if we need to be kept safe from them?"
"We won't," Harry said after stopping and turning back to the group. "We have no reason to feel threatened by Victoria's group. We have nothing the want."
Connie stepped toward Harry and gestured casually past him, saying, "Tell them that."
He turned to see a small group walking from the second camp their way; the Berettas were noticeably displayed in the waist bands of at least four of the seven. As they arrived, Harry gave Javier a sharp look, then looked to Victoria, who was also armed. He looked to the 9mm and asked, "Really? You think that's necessary?"
"We're about to find out," she responded. She looked past him to one of the piles of supplies salvaged from the plane's wreckage, then to the fire where several small carcasses -- a pair of rabbits, a raccoon, and several fish -- were cooked or still cooking for the upcoming lunch. "We want half of everything."
Harry couldn't help but laugh. "Half?"
"Why not?" she asked. "Two groups. Even split."
"There's only about 60 of them, Harry," Cliff Sampson called from nearby. When he garnered attention from Harry, Victoria, and others, he continued, "That's about 40% of--"
"Cliff!" a female voice chastised sharply from nearby. The teen turned to find his mother, Shari glaring at him. She said softly, "Keep still."
"I trust the boy's math," Harry said in Cliff's direction before turning to face Victoria again. "Seems fair: you have 40% of the people, you get 40% of the salvage."
"Not including the food ... 'cause you don't deserve it," Cliff added, ignoring his mother's warnings. When Victoria looked his way, the boy gestured toward the fire pit and clarified with an accusatory tone, "My little hunting club killed all of this. None of your people did shit."
His mother again snapped at him, but Cliff was undeterred. "I made the snares and fishing poles, with Harry's help ... and some of the others helped, too, but none of your people did. Connie cleaned the fish, and Julia Rivers found the herbs for cooking them. Tammy helped, too, and Harvey Kingston, and them."
On them, Cliff pointed to a trio of survivors who'd been more than eager to help catch and gather food to keep their bellies from rolling around within them. He looked to where his sisters were standing together and added, "Even Sammi and Molly helped, and that's saying something since Sammi doesn't like to get her hands dirty now that she's discovered boys."
"Bite me," his slightly younger sister mumbled just loud enough for her siblings and mother to hear. It was, of course, very true: Sammi's love for the outdoors had waned as she's begun turning into quite a young beauty and boys had discovered her!.
"We can feed ourselves," Victoria responded as if she was being challenged.
Harry thought he was detecting some rising tension amongst Victoria's armed escort, and while he didn't think that there was actually going to be a gangland style shoot'em up, he also didn't want to risk someone doing something stupid. Everyone had seen Victoria's people carrying their own personal stuff away with them, from their own bags to the seat cushions, airport blankets, and more that had been distributed that first night and next morning. To be honest, there really wasn't that much more that hadn't already been claimed.
"Half," he said, nodding his head toward one cache, then another. He glanced back at Cliff, then to Victoria: "You can take half the food, too. I'm confident we can replace it by sundown."
Victoria smiled with a bit of triumph in her expression before gesturing to her people to get their stuff. But before they could get more than a couple of steps forward, Harry cut them off: "Not like this!" He glanced to the guns in some of his rival's waist bands and said, "No one who's packin' takes a step closer." He looked to the beauty before him and, speaking specifically for her own ears said, "This is a recipe for disaster. Victoria, I think you were wrong to split the group up, but I respect you for speaking your mind and stepping into a leadership role. But this..."
He now gestured toward the gun in her own waist band and added, "...was idiotic."
Harry hesitated for her reaction, but all he got was a stare and a slight smirk. One of the men behind her stepped closer and murmured, "You don't have to take--"
But Victoria slowly lifted her hand in a quiet gesture, and after the man stood down, she said over her shoulder, "Javier, collect the pistols. The rest of you, go with our friend Harry and get our stuff."
The men and one woman packin' heat were reluctant to varying degrees to give up the guns they'd brought with them, but all did ... except for Victoria. But she also didn't move any closer to the piles of supplies that were now to be split between the two groups. Harry called Harvey, Connie, and Shari forward and told them, "Help Victoria's people, if you don't mind."
"And we'll need half of the medical supplies the woman from the other team said a moment later.
"No," Harry responded simply. "The medical supplies stay with the infirmary ... which will continue to remain fully accessible to your people, just as it will to ... well, mine, for lack of a better word." He could see that Victoria wasn't happy with this and clarified, "Doc Mason, Peter, Paula, Helen ... Addler and Rosalee ... they're all still here with me."
"Maybe you need to take another look at your staff, Harry," Victoria countered. Regarding the retired Navy SEAL medic, she said "Peter Wilson's over at my camp.
That surprised Harry, and while he tried to hide his disappointment, he could see in Victoria's expression that had noticed his disappointment. He said solemnly, "Well, that's his choice. Still ... the meds stay here. If the Chief needs something, he can come ask Doc Mason for it. The meds stay here."
There was a brief argument behind Harry about what 50-50 meant, but it was settled quickly. Victoria's people began heading off toward their own camp with their hands full and in some cases backs full. One of Harry's people grabbed at a bag that, apparently, Victoria's man had already been told wasn't theirs. A brief scuffle began but ended when Harry gave the man permission to take the package.
When only Victoria and Javier remained -- the latter acting as if he were the former's bodyguard -- Harry stepped closer to the woman and spoke softly: "This could have gone much differently." He looked to her waist and the gun in her belt. Looking back into her eyes again and stepping into her personal space -- something that put the gunrunner on guard -- Harry growled at Victoria, "Don't you ever brings guns into this camp again."
Victoria smiled wide, then reached up and caressed Harry's face with soft fingers, something from which he pulled away. She told him before turning and leaving, "I'm gonna miss you, Harry. You're a nice guy. I think we could have been good friends ... maybe more than friends."
Harry stood there in silence watching the woman head away toward the distant camp. Then, gesturing to three of his people who he'd learned had actual battlefield experience -- one each from Vietnam, Afghanistan, and Syria -- and had expressed a willingness and even desire to be part of the security force, Harry said, "I want a 24/7 watch on the infirmary, specifically the drugs. We'll move the rest of the supplies into the fuselage as well. You up to it?"
All three answered in the affirmative, and Harry told them he would find others to help. He then called the entire group together for a discussion about what lay ahead for them: they discussed night watches, foraging, hunting, water collection, the building of latrines, shower stalls, and -- of course -- more permanent housing. "We have everything we need within half a mile of here to make a comfortable and secure home for ourselves: wood for building, food for ... well, eating, duh ... clean water."
"What about that saber tooth lion?" someone asked. "When it gets hungry again..."
The person didn't finish the thought, but Harry responded: "We will build a perimeter to keep it out. We will train people to stand watch with weapons, including the handguns. I assure you: if everyone chips in and puts out the effort, we can build a safe secure home where we will not only survive but will thrive."
There were more questions and conversations before Harry said, "Again, I want to bring up the idea of an election. We need to decide--"
But before he could get any farther, someone called out, "I nominate Harry Timms for the role of leader of our group. Do I have a second?"
Someone quickly called out, "Second!"
The first person continued, "All in favor of Harry Timms being our leader, say aye!"
As he watched, nearly everyone in the crowd either called out or raised a hand or both. He smiled wide with delight and pride. The man who'd started this finished with, "Mayor Harry Timms, speech!"
There was laughter and playful calls of Speech! Speech! Harry only waved them off and said, "Okay, knock it off. We've got work to do."
He called a few people to him by name, then said to the entire crowd, "If you have an immediate concern, please bring it to me."
Harry spent the next three hours discussing vital topics with others, and by the time the sun was halfway between high noon and sunset, nearly every person in the camp was off working on a project for which they'd either volunteered or been assigned. Harry, Connie, Shari, and Harvey stood together watching the survivors becoming busy bodies for a moment, and just before they themselves went to work, too, Harry told them in a serious tone, "We need to keep an eye on Victoria and her gun toting friends, but ... not in a way that makes it seem like we're keeping an eye on them. I believe that eventually, they'll come back into the fold. But for now, we have to give them the freedom to realize for themselves that they are making a mistake."
Tammie Wagner looked to Cliff Sampson with a confused expression, asking, "What the hell?"
"Pig-Latin," the teen said, continuing when the girl slightly older than him only seemed to remain confused, "Pig-Latin...? You don't know Pig-Latin?"
He laughed, then began to explain, "Take the first consonant or consonant blend, like the letter--"
Tammy cut him off, "I know what a consonant is, and I know what Pig-Latin is. I just don't understand what the hell you mean by the shit hitteth the fan."
The humor in Cliff's face faded as the chastising. He nodded his head toward the group of about a dozen adults standing in a circle out past the far side of the wrecked fuselage arguing. He said only, "That."
Tammy hadn't been paying any attention to the stress and anger and other emotions building in the camp over the past couple of days. She had her own problems with which to deal, the most prominent of which was Julia and Helen's insistence that she clean up her act, aka getting off the drugs. To be entirely honest, Tammy hadn't felt this good in a long, long time: the pair of women had been using their herbal remedies and the less-addictive mushrooms to wean her down, as well as feeding her well, cleaning her up physically, and simply spending time with her in thoughtful and sometimes comical conversation.
But there were still times when Tammy would love to have swallowed a pill or snorted a line or jabbed a needle into her arm. Now, as she looked off toward the group of arguing people Cliff had pointed out, that feeling returned to her. She asked, "What the fuck's wrong with them?"
"Everything!" he responded. "We still don't have enough food, so people are hungry..."
Food was still a problem. There were over two dozen snares now, most of them in the forest, that were bringing in a consistent supply of mostly rabbits but raccoons, skunks, and a wide array of rodents, too. A stream with fish and crayfish in it had also been found. A clever member of the crew -- yes, Cliff Sampson -- had repurposed some of the dead aircraft's wiring into little snares that were secured to a log on which collected seeds were spread; they easily caught a couple of dozen songbirds each day (not that everyone wanted to eat Tweety).
Despite all of this meat and the nuts, berries, seeds, leaves, roots, insects, and such forth coming into the camp, there still wasn't enough to sufficiently fill all 149 bellies each day. It wasn't because there wasn't enough edible flora and fauna near the crash site, though: the problem was that not enough people were putting out the effort to collect and process what was being found.
And that was what the argument beyond the fuselage was about. Actually, the argument was less about who was or wasn't foraging or hunting and more about who was going to make those who weren't get off their lazy asses and start. Harry Timms -- the senior flight attendant who had taken a leadership role and, thus far, been accepted in that position by most of the survivors -- had tried but failed to urge some of the less helpful people into putting out some effort to serve the camp.
Harry had gotten firm support from a number of key people and most of the remaining group; if he'd been pressed to give a number, Cliff would have estimated that the flight attendant had the support of 2/3 of the 148 other survivors.
But there was another wanna-be leader amongst the group, a charismatic and beautiful woman named Victoria Bevens, and Victoria had the support of yet another key survivor: Javier Flores, who of course was the man with (most of) the guns. Victoria had used her charm to find the true source of the Berettas, after which she'd flirted with Javier just enough to draw her into her web. Finding another half dozen or so supporters, she put a 24/7 guard around the gun runner and his suitcase full of tools, then proceeded to encourage others to her way of thinking about the future of the group.
The primary differences between Harry and Victoria were simple: Harry thought every survivor should work every day to further the survival of the group, whereas Victoria's thinking was that she and those with the guns should essentially rule over the others and that these others should do all the work. Harry and his key people knew that this was a volatile situation: one false move from either of the two camps -- yes, the two groups were by now living in two separate areas on either side of the fuselage -- and there could very well be a Shootout at the OK Corral moment.
Tammy -- by now wondering whether or not more knowledge might be better than less of it -- excused herself from Cliff's presence and wandered over closer to the fuselage and, thus, the argument. She wound her way around the separated tail section of the plane until she could hear most of what was being said. It became clear that the current discussion was about Javier's checked baggage: Harry was arguing that the pistols and ammunition should be divided per the size of the group possession them, using the term per capita at one point, which simultaneously seemed both right and wrong to Tammy; Victoria was saying the guns and bullets should be divided evenly between the two factions, regardless of how many of the survivors followed Harry and how many aligned with her; while Javier himself was reminding both Harry and Victoria that he'd already made an agreement to give up only four of the firearms, some clips, and a box of bullets.
What Tammy took away from the discussion wasn't so much about the Berettas but about the 149 remaining survivors: it seemed that they were, in fact, about to divide into two separate groups. What would that look like, she wondered? Were they going to simply continue to live on separate sides of the wreckage? Or was one or both groups going to strike out for new territory?
She realized that she was going to get her answer when the entire group suddenly turned for the larger assemblage of survivors, with Harry calling out in one direction after another, "Attention! Can everyone gather around the big bond fire. Everyone ... please ... we need to talk."
Within a couple of minutes, every survivor save those still in the fuselage infirmary -- 12 patients and a couple of care givers -- and a handful of men, women, and older children foraging or hunting in the forest encircled the last of the fire pits, which currently had only the slightest of fires burning in it. Harry gestured for silence, then explained, "We have a situation that must be resolved, and it's not something I can simply foist upon the group as some sort of self-appointed leader."
He spoke on everything from food to guns to building defenses -- or, more specifically, the lack of building of defenses -- before saying, "It is my opinion that -- as a group, one group -- we need to elect a leader, someone to make the important decisions, the hard decisions."
As Harry was talking, a variety of responses arose all about the group, some verbal, some not; some were obviously supportive of what Harry was saying while other were most definitely not.
Victoria cut in, "And it is my opinion that if we were to have such an election, you would be the obvious winner, and there are quite a few of us that don't agree with that."
Just as with Harry, Victoria's words caused pro and con reactions among the crowd. She stepped closer to the fire and more into the group's line of sight and continued, "Majority rule does not always work. We've seen this for years, decades! Hell, anyone who pays attention to the mayhem that is our government knows that!"
Cheers arose from the crowd, a minority of the survivors but a very vocal one. Victoria continued on about the failings of democracy, then looked directly at Harry as she said, "If you want to be Mayor or Governor or President of your little United State of Survivors, Harry, go ahead. But my people and I won't stand for it."
She looked about the circled crowd with a confident look and asked, "Who's with me?"
Again, there was a minority and yet significant cheer. Victoria looked to Harry again, her lips spreading in a grin. Then, she simply turned and headed away toward where she and her followers had set up their separate camps. One after another, survivors began weaving their way through their unmoving opposites until finally the two groups were well defined.
Cliff Sampson had been listening from the outside of the encirclement, and now he tried counting each of the men and women following Victoria away from the Big Fire. He was surprised when his count was much higher than he'd estimated: something around 60 of the survivors -- 40% of the group -- headed for the other fire in support of the woman who was now Harry's competitor for leadership.
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